


Save a Cowboy

by Viscariafields



Series: Puppy Love [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Broken Bones, Deleted Scenes, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not exactly smut, Tumblr Prompt, over the clothes action only I'm afraid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:33:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27218707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viscariafields/pseuds/Viscariafields
Summary: Deleted scenes from The Edge of Sadness.~Alistair eyed Bethany. She’d been unreadable over in her corner, falling silent while the healer tortured him, prodding him in the side and then setting his broken arm. Oh, he knew the damn thing had to be set, but he played the old, “I’m going to count to three,” trick on him and had counted only to two and wham! Searing pain.Funny trick on someone who could have him beheaded.Alistair saw nothing but stars while his shield arm was splinted. Deep breaths in front of the pretty girl. He’d had worse, but he’d never wanted to impress anyone before. Not that falling off a horse could be deemed impressive in any way.~Chapter 2 is the Hero of Ferelden receiving a letter from Alistair regarding his new wife.
Relationships: Alistair/Bethany Hawke, Zevran Arainai/Male Warden
Series: Puppy Love [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715638
Comments: 28
Kudos: 27





	1. Save a Cowboy

**Author's Note:**

> Alistair's alternate title was "There's a Horse Loose in the Hospital but it's the Good Kind" 
> 
> If you haven't read The Edge of Sadness, Alistair has no idea she's a mage.

Alistair eyed Bethany. She’d been unreadable over in her corner, falling silent while the healer tortured him, prodding him in the side and then setting his broken arm. Oh, he knew the damn thing had to be set, but he played the old, “I’m going to count to three,” trick on him and had counted only to two and wham! Searing pain.

Funny trick on someone who could have him beheaded.

Alistair saw nothing but stars while his shield arm was splinted. Deep breaths in front of the pretty girl. He’d had worse, but he’d never wanted to impress anyone before. Not that falling off a horse could be deemed impressive in _any_ way. Absolutely and entirely idiotic, but he didn’t want to add flogging to his injuries, so he kept that to himself.

And of course Bethany was right that he’d rather just have a mage come wave the whole thing away, but he couldn’t admit that she was right while she was standing in a corner looking like she was about to cry.

Why did she look like that?

Right. She liked him, _a lot_ , so she said, and he went and fell off a horse. He supposed, since he liked her, _a lot_ , that if she were to fall off a horse, he’d look a little glum. Come to think of it, he’d never seen her on a horse.

“Don’t tell me in addition to thunder you’re afraid of horses,” Alistair tried, wondering if she would come out of her little corner, “Did a horse once threaten your family? All the oats or he’d start kicking.”

“There are no horses in here,” she said.

“Just a horse’s ass.”

The healer had advised him to keep his arm above his head for the swelling, but he ignored that in favor of sitting up, at least for a few minutes, while Bethany was still here. Liking him. _A lot_. 

“Is it really just the arm?” she asked, finally moving away from the wall.

He wondered if more injuries or fewer would get her here faster. “Would you worry less if I said yes?”

“No.”

“Then I should tell you my side is very bruised.”

Her eyes found the area, holes all down his shirt, and she touched him just there, so soft he almost didn’t feel it, except his whole body felt it in a sort of electrifying response. He swallowed as she asked, “Did you hit a tree on your way down?”

Alistair didn’t know. He didn’t know anything right now other than he wanted to pull her into his lap and keep her there for the rest of his natural life. “That sounds right.”

“Did you hit your head?”

No idea. “No.”

And then, as if reading his mind, she crawled up on the bed next to him and sat on her knees. “May I see?” she asked, and Alistair wasn’t certain if he even answered out loud as she ran her fingers through his hair. _Yes_ , he thought, _Please._

Her fingers slowed their gentle probing of his scalp. “I can’t quite reach,” she said, shifting closer to him, “May I…?”

“Anything you need,” he replied, and immediately regretted it, because she swung one of her legs over his, adjusting her skirts, and now sat on his lap facing him, _straddling_ him, and Alistair thought the end of his natural life might, in fact, be _now._ “W-w-what is happening?” he managed to get out as Bethany’s… uh, her, well, her chest area filled his entire vision.

“I’m checking you for lumps, Alistair,” she said, and hearing her say his name while her legs were around him like this was more than he thought he could personally withstand, he was an _injured man_ after all, and he was about to be a mortally embarrassed one as well, because there was no way she wouldn’t _feel_ his… oh, fuck. “You’re acting a little strange.”

Oh, well, that explained it. Her body straddling his and her bosoms in his face and _he_ was the strange one. Right. Right. A concussion might _actually_ explain all of this, though he’d never had so lovely a one before.

Her hands stopped their searching along his scalp, and she lowered herself so at least her face was in view again and not just her… well, but this was the end of everything for him. His good hand clenched into a fist just so he didn’t run it up her side and pull her to his mouth. He couldn’t stop looking at her lips, now that they were in front of him. Couldn’t stop thinking about them, either. His whole world shrunk around him until nothing else existed.

“Are you alright?” she asked, and there was a breathiness to her voice that had all the muscles in his torso clenching.

“Not in the slightest.”

She nodded, a tiny little thing, and then her mouth was on his, and her hands were tugging on his shirt and her hips shifted, just a little, and Alistair had never done anything— _anything—_ to deserve this, as he held her with one arm and prayed she would never let go.

This kissing was fierce and urgent and _indecent,_ but Alistair didn’t care. Let the Maker strike him down for this. Bethany’s hips shifted again and he moaned against her throat, dragging his lips across her neck and pulling at her dress so that he might kiss her collarbone. Bethany had his shirt pulled up, her hands all over his chest, and when she tugged, he tried to help her with it, but then she tugged harder and Alistair’s vision went entirely black.

He saw stars again, the bad kind, and Bethany said, “Oh, Maker,” but in the bad way, followed by, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, Ali,” as he sort of keeled over to the side. His shield arm exploded in pain as he clenched his teeth and considered that perhaps the Maker had something more expedient in mind. Bethany climbed off of him, a loss he’d feel for days, weeks, but was unable to complain about because his entire being now centered on pain.

“Drink this,” she said, thrusting something at his mouth. Alistair wasn’t sure he remembered how to swallow just now, but he must have done it, because her hand moved away and a feeling of dullness started to permeate from his belly outward. “Sorry, Ali,” she whispered, as the dullness reached his head and his eyes drooped closed, “We’ll have to try that again later.”

Later was good, he thought, as both pain and consciousness receded. He could do later.


	2. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I received a request to write Darrian's reaction to receiving Alistair's letter regarding Bethany.

Darrian was waiting for Zevran in the stables at Vigil’s Keep. Oh, he was pretending he was checking on the horses, that he had very important Warden business in the yard, but Darrian knew nothing about the animals and hated the smell. He was here for Zevran and Zevran alone.

“What news from Denerim?” he asked in his laughably fake official tone, waving away the stable hand who did not require his input or direction.

Zevran handed the man the reins to his horse. “Matters of utmost delicacy.”

“Then you must afford me a private audience at once.”

Zevran bowed, and minutes later Darrian had him pinned up against a wall. It was good to be home. 

Some time after that, naked and warm and satisfied and happy, Zevran fished around in his things. “I actually do have a message from Alistair, if you want to read it.”

He waved the letter in front of Darrian, but he didn’t take it.

“How was he?” he asked with a wince.

“Ever the same, and yet, well. Things have changed. You really should read this letter.”

Darrian sighed. It was the first letter Alistair had written in two years. Darrian had finally given up writing him anything other than Warden reports six months ago. The silence between them ached and, as far as Zevran could tell, was based on nothing. Guilt, mistakes, Alistair’s general attitude of surrender, and the fact that each resided where the other wanted to be, and neither could come out and just say it.

“You read it to me,” Darrian sighed.

Zevran was only too happy to oblige. “’Dear Darrian. As you must have heard, I have recently been married.’”

Darrian snorted. “Must have heard? Asshole didn’t invite me to the wedding. How is his bride?”

Zevran held a finger up and tsked. “We’ll get to that part in a minute. First he describes the nature of the marriage.” He resumed his best Alistair impression. “‘The marriage was arranged by my uncle. I find myself very lucky with his choice of bride.’”

Another snort from Darrian, followed by a loud, “Ha!” when Zevran continued, “’Actually, she wasn’t his choice, now that I think about it. I was supposed to marry her sister, and she tricked him. And me, also, I guess.’”

“A woman who arrived in Denerim having already tricked Eamon? She’s after my own heart.”

Zevran cleared his throat. “’Zevran would like me to describe her for you, though why he can’t describe her himself is beyond me.’”

“You are though, aren’t you? Going to give me an actual description of her after whatever comes next?”

“Of course. And I will tell you all about how Alistair made her believe I was his secret lover, and she was brought to Denerim to marry him, find a lover herself, and have a child to be heir to the throne while Alistair ignored her completely.”

“Maker’s breath, no. No. Not even Ali would— no, Zev, don’t tell me these things. He didn’t.”

“Oh, he did. He absolutely and completely did. But I digress. ‘She’s shorter than I expected, around Zevran’s height, I suppose.’”

“And is she?”

“No. Taller than me by two inches, I would say.”

“Continue.”

“’Her hair is black and very straight. Her eyes are dark, almost as dark as her hair. Shall I describe her eyelashes next? They are ample.’”

“Do chantry boys not get any education in poetry?” Darrian interjected, “The Chant is a sort of poem in itself, but Alistair could greatly benefit from… from many things, honestly, but poetry first and foremost.”

Zevran, having already scanned the next line, was doing all he could to stop from laughing. “’Zevran wants you to know that she has a very nice smile.’” He took a breath, determined to say the next line with a straight face. “’She has nice teeth.’”

Darrian lunged for the letter, but Zevran held it out of reach. “He did not just write about her like she’s a horse. Maker’s breath, is she a horse? Is she an actual horse with a black, straight mane, that tricked Eamon and Alistair into marrying into royalty?”

“No. She’s a very beautiful woman, two legs, no tail.”

Darrian sighed, a hand pulling at his hair. “Alright. Fine. Does he say more?”

“So much. ‘She’s from Lothering, of all places. Might have even been there when we passed through. She has one of those sweet southern accents. It’s nice to know more than a silly rose made it out. Especially after I lost the wilted thing during the siege. That’s what I get for being sentimental.’”

Darrian’s exasperated expression turned concerned. “Zevran, are you about to tell me he’s in love with this trickster horse-woman?”

Zevran continued reading. He hadn’t seen this part before Alistair folded it up and sealed the envelope. “’She’s clever, or at least she seems clever to an idiot like me.’” Darrian snorted. “’She reads a lot, walks a lot in the woods. She learned the name of everyone in the castle in about a week, which had me beat by two months at least. She swears like a Warden when she thinks nobody can hear her. When I fell off my horse—'”

“He fell off his horse?”

“Hunting. Broke his arm.”

Darrian shook his head. “Maker.”

“’When I fell off my horse, she shoved Arlessa Meiriona right out of the way, knocked her right into the mud, and I don’t even know if she noticed. Couldn’t laugh at it at the time, but now… Maker. I wouldn’t stand in her way. Every time I think I know how she’ll react to something, she surprises me. She’s afraid of thunder and horses and probably spiders and frogs, but she faced down the Bannorn like they were nothing.’”

“He loves her,” Darrian stated.

“Very pathetically,” Zevran agreed, brows furrowing over the next section. “’We argued this morning. I made her cry, though she denied it. She believes in me for some reason. I can’t quite figure out why, and I’ve tried to get her to stop, but there you have it. She keeps doing it. I suppose we can add ‘persistent’ to her list of qualities.’”

Zevran sighed. He hadn’t known about the crying.

“Tell me you helped him,” Darrian said. 

“I tried. You might have done better.”

“No. You’re the man for the job, I know it. I would have just… I don’t know. Stepped in it. Made her cry harder to show how easy it was. Or, I don’t know. Yelled at him and made them both feel worse.”

Zevran couldn’t disagree, exactly. The longer Alistair was King, the less he seemed to understand anything Darrian said to him until every word was a dagger and every conversation a wound. It was painful to watch. 

Zevran cleared his throat. “There’s still more. ’In short, she’s far too good for the likes of me. I think you would be hard-pressed to find fault with her, other than she has the unfortunate luck to have been married off to me.’”

“Oh, Ali,” Darrian sighed, “Is she good, Zev? Is she… Tell me she’s not some conniving witch who has him wrapped around her little finger and will crush him the minute it suits her.”

Zevran shook his head. “You won’t believe me. You are far too cynical for what I have to report.”

“Try me.”

“She is sweet, and thoughtful, and head over heels in love with him. Everyone can see it except for Alistair. When she thought we were lovers, she practically congratulated me through tears.”

Darrian swallowed, his eyes very glassy all of the sudden. “You’re telling me that Alistair loves a woman, a good woman, and she loves him back. What were the odds?”

Zevran nodded. “Oh, and one more thing. On my way out of Denerim, I heard that she threw out Eamon.”

Darrian scoffed. “Now you’re just fucking with me.”

“It’s true! She did. He’s on the road to Redcliffe as we speak.”

“Good riddance. Maybe a passing pack of bandits or wolves will finish off the bastard, though I have a horrible suspicion we made him immortal with those ashes.”

Zevran curled up at Darrian’s side, Darrian’s arm slung over his shoulder. “The end of the letter now. The most important part. ‘I think she would be very happy to meet you, should you wish to visit. I should be happy to see you as well. Alistair.’”

Darrian was silent for a long time. “I should have gone with you,” he finally said.

“Will you visit?”

Darrian hummed. “It sounds like Alistair is dangerously close to being happy. I wonder if he remembers how.”

That was not an answer. Zevran waited.

“I think I have to. I have to see it to believe it. For all I know, this woman took advantage of your guileless and unworldly self, tricking your trusting heart into believing her intentions are pure. And if that’s the case, I shall have to stab her.”

Zevran kissed the spot just below his ear. “If that’s what you have to tell yourself.”

“Maker, _please_ do not kiss me while I’m thinking about Alistair. Horrifying.”

Zevran laughed into his neck. It was a perfectly reasonable request. “You aren’t the one who was accused of being his lover. Can you imagine?”

“I’m actively trying not to.”

Zevran shoved him, and Darrian shoved back, and the letter was soon tossed to the side, forgotten.


	3. Hugs by the Harbor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tumblr prompt: Lifting off the ground hug for Alistair and Bethany

Zevran shivered. He had not wanted to accompany Alistair to the docks, much preferring to wait for Bethany inside the castle where there were doors to block the wind and fires to stand next to and servants to bring him coffee, and he had told Alistair as much. Alistair had not been listening, however, putting his enormously large hand on Zevran’s back and propelling him into the carriage and then shoving him out of the carriage when Zevran refused to budge.

It was windy here, and it stunk of fish. Dead fish. Alistair kept bouncing on his feet, and the combination with the waves and the wind and smell had Zevran feeling a little queasy.

“How long did you say she was gone?”

“Two months,” Alistair groaned. “Two entire months with her sister in Kirkwall.”

Zevran rubbed his hands together in a futile effort for warmth. He had once waited six months for Darrian to return from the Deep Roads. He was well into his third month of waiting now, and that was the reason he came to Denerim in the first place. An act of desperation, he now understood. “I can’t imagine what torture it’s been,” he muttered sarcastically.

“You have no idea,” Alistair responded with the tact of a druffalo.

Well, what could he expect? He’d shove Alistair right into the harbor if it meant Darrian were getting off that ship. But it was Bethany who shuffled onto the plank, and in an impulsive act of defiance, Zevran stepped in front of Alistair and hugged her first.

He heard Alistair’s miffed exhalation, and Bethany giggled at Zevran’s eagerness. Such a trick would have consequences, however, so Zevran angled Bethany’s back to Alistair, presenting no easy target for retribution.

With a second huff and a roll of his eyes, Alistair simply plucked Bethany from Zevran’s arms, lifting her into the air and away from his former friend. Bethany laughed again, and in moments Zevran was all but forgotten. A moment or two watching their unbearably sweet reunion, and he decided that perhaps he would not share their carriage back to the castle. There were plenty of taverns nearby with roaring fires no doubt, and he’d need a drink or two to erase the saccharine image from his mind.


	4. Cowgirl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a tumblr prompt: "You did not just compare me to a cat/mabari/nug/Thedosian animal of your choice"

“You did _not_ just compare me to a mabari,” Alistair complained, springing up onto all fours on the bed and causing Bethany’s hand to fall away from his hair where she’d been massaging it for the past half hour.

“You’re right,” she replied, putting down her book and leaning toward him. “The way you were purring, you were more like a cat.”

His indignant expression melted into despondency. “That’s worse.” He collapsed onto the mattress with a dramatic huff, and Bethany bounced into the air and rolled toward him on the landing, not that he noticed with his hand draped over his eyes. “The King of Ferelden, a cat? They could have me beheaded for that. That’s sacrilege, that is. That’s practically Orlesian.” The word dripped off his tongue with disdain, but Bethany rolled her eyes.

“Show me your belly, kick your leg out a little and the balance will tilt back toward dog.”

He snatched her wrist before she could succeed in pulling up his shirt and asked, “What about a lion? Lions are nice. Strong. Roaring and regal and things like that.”

She snickered. “That’s a cat, Ali. Just a big cat with extra hair.”

“Lions are cats?” He couldn’t keep the disgust out of his voice. “No wonder we don’t have any. What about a bear? I’ve fought bears before. Good, Fereldan animals. I could stand being Alistair the Bear.”

“Yes, Zevran did refer to you as a bear once, but I don’t think that’s what he meant.”

After a moment of serious reflection, he conceded, “If Zevran said it, better not.”

“Alistair the druffalo?” she suggested.

He considered this like a man considering his own death. He began ticking characteristics off on his fingers. “Large, hairy, yes. Very strong, basically a mobile battering ram, and yes, the comparison has been made before. Most damning, though, a druffalo will follow anyone anywhere, whether or not they really want them to.”

“Do they?”

“When I was a Warden, one followed us across the bannorn. Stayed with us for three days, no matter how many times we tried to shoo it off, spending the evenings standing in camp, staring at us and chewing. Oghren was halfway to convincing Darrian that we should carve it up for supper when the owner showed up.”

“Would you have eaten it?” she asked, “The little druffalo who just wanted to be a Warden and save the world?” 

“There were moments we considered eating Darrian’s _boots_ we were so desperate for food. There were moments I would have considered eating _Darrian.”_ Bethany snorted. _“_ Luckily it didn’t come to that. We _did_ eat some rather suspicious mushrooms, eggs that Zevran _said_ came from a goose, and one very dodgy potato.”

Bethany grinned. There was only one animal with a diet like that. “I have it. Alistair the—”

“Don’t say nug,” he groaned.

“… horse,” she blurted out, trying to think of any animal that wasn’t a nug.

He rolled onto his side, his mouth curling into a smile. “You hate horses.” He pushed her hair out of her face. “You’re _afraid_ of them.”

“I am not,” she lied. “In fact,” she said, pushing on his shoulder until he was flat on his back again, “I’ll prove it.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I’ll ride one right now.”

She swung her leg over his hip, straddling him, and after he settled his laughter and cleared his throat three or four times, Alistair finally agreed, “Alistair the Horse it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you ARE reading The Edge of Sadness, this scene happens from Bethany's perspective goes a bit differently.


End file.
